The God from whom it came,
And if we serve with hearts sincere,
'Tis still discernible and clear,
An undisputed claim.

But, ah! if foul and wilful sin
Stain and dishonour us within,
Farewell the joy we knew;
Again the slaves of Nature's sway,
In labyrinths of our own we stray,
Without a guide or clue.

The chaste and pure who fear to grieve
The gracious Spirit they receive,
His work distinctly trace;
And, strong in undissembling love,
Boldly assert and clearly prove

Their hearts his dwelling place.

Oh messenger of dear delight,
Whose voice dispels the deepest night,
Sweet peace-proclaiming Dove!
With thee at hand, to soothe our pains,
No wish unsatisfied remains,

No task but that of Love.

'Tis Love unites what Sin divides;
The centre, where all bliss resides;
To which the soul once brought,
Reclining on the first great Cause,
From his abounding sweetness draws
Peace passing human thought.

Sorrow foregoes its nature there,
And life assumes a tranquil air,

Divested of its woes;

There sovereign goodness soothes the breast, Till then incapable of rest,

In sacred sure repose.


LOVE is the Lord whom I obey,

Whose will transported I perform;

The centre of my rest, my stay,

Love's all in all to me, myself a worm.

For uncreated charms I burn,

Oppress'd by slavish fear no more; For One in whom I may discern,

Even when he frowns, a sweetness I adore.

He little loves Him who complains,

And finds him rigorous and severe ;

His heart is sordid, and he feigns,

Though loud in boasting of a soul sincere.

Love causes grief, but 'tis to move

And stimulate the slumbering mind;

And he has never tasted love

Who shuns a pang so graciously design'd.

Sweet is the cross, above all sweets,

To souls enamour'd with thy smiles;

The keenest woe life ever meets,

Love strips of all its terrors, and beguiles.

'Tis just that God should not be dear

Where self engrosses all the thought, And groans and murmurs make it clear, Whatever else is loved, the Lord is not.

The love of Thee flows just as much
As that of ebbing self subsides;
Our hearts, their scantiness is such,

Bear not the conflict of two rival tides.

Both cannot govern in one soul;

Then let self-love be dispossess'd;

The Love of God deserves the whole,
And will not dwell with so despised a guest.


SOURCE of love, and light of day,

Tear me from myself away;

Every view and thought of mine

Cast into the mould of thine;

Teach, O teach this faithless heart
A consistent constant part;
Or, if it must live to grow
More rebellious, break it now!

Is it thus that I requite
Grace and goodness infinite?
Every trace of every boon
Cancell'd and erased so soon!
Can I grieve Thee, whom I love;
Thee, in whom I live and move?

If my sorrow touch thee still,
Save me from so great an ill!

Oh the oppressive, irksome weight
Felt in an uncertain state;
Comfort, peace, and rest adieu,
Should I prove at last untrue!
Still I choose thee, follow still
Every notice of thy will;
But, unstable, strangely weak,
Still let slip the good I seek.

Self-confiding wretch, I thought
I could serve thee as I ought,
Win thee, and deserve to feel
All the Love thou canst reveal!
Trusting self, a bruised reed,
Is to be deceived indeed.

Save me from this harm and loss,
Lest my gold turn all to dross!

Self is earthly-Faith alone
Makes an unseen world our own;
Faith relinquish'd, how we roam,
Feel our way, and leave our home!
Spurious gems our hopes entice,
While we scorn the pearl of price ;
And, preferring servants' pay,
Cast the children's bread away.

THE ACQUIESCENCE OF PURE LOVE. LOVE! if thy destined sacrifice am I,

Come slay thy victim, and prepare thy fires;
Plunged in thy depths of mercy, let me die

The death which every soul that lives desires!
I watch my hours, and see them fleet away;
The time is long that I have languish'd here;
Yet all my thoughts thy purposes obey,
With no reluctance, cheerful and sincere.
To me 'tis equal, whether Love ordain
My life or death, appoint me pain or ease;
My soul perceives no real ill in pain ;

In ease or health no real good she sees.

One Good she covets, and that Good alone;
To choose thy will, from selfish bias free;
And to prefer a cottage to a throne,

And grief to comfort, if it pleases thee.

That we should bear the cross is thy command,
Die to the world, and live to self no more;
Suffer, unmoved, beneath the rudest hand,
As pleased when shipwreck'd as when safe on shore.


BLEST! who, far from all mankind,
This world's shadows left behind,
Hears from Heaven a gentle strain
Whispering Love, and loves again.

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